


i gave it all away that night

by starforged



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Pre-Romance, Violence, both are minor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starforged/pseuds/starforged
Summary: His hand moves to the small of her back, nearly covering the expanse. His fingers are almost brushing her hip.“Let me encourage your decision a bit.”





	i gave it all away that night

It seems like returning back to Skyhold seems few and far between, and she isn’t quite sure if that’s because it really _is_ like that, or if it’s because these missions and trampling through forests that aren’t hers or dealing with the affairs of messy, incompetent humans is just utterly _draining_ and makes refuge almost a myth.

Lavellan is pretty sure it’s that second option. Always safer to go with the more emotional one. She’s ready to sit and stretch her legs and shed her gear and get so drunk, she forgets her own name. It’s a good plan, if not exactly the most inspiring one.

Inspiring is exhausting. 

The second she stands outside the tavern, she realizes that everyone - _everyone_ \- has had the same idea. Mad, blitzing intoxication to forget the troubles their world is crumbling under. Her fingers twitch.

Maybe better to hide in her chambers where nobody can bother her. 

“Hey, boss.” A large, heavy hand lands on her shoulder. There’s a fluttering in her stomach as she looks up at Iron Bull through her lashes. He’s already wearing a grin, and his fingers linger much longer than decorum would like. His hand slides to rest between her shoulder blades. “You’re blocking the entrance.”

“I was just deciding how badly I need a drink,” she admits.

His hand moves to the small of her back, nearly covering the expanse. His fingers are almost brushing her hip. 

“Let me encourage your decision a bit.”

And by encourage, it’s clear he means that he’s just going to steer her inside of the tavern, that well-placed hand attached to a thick arm that doesn’t allow for a lot of maneuverability. The Inquisitor stumbles inside, tripping over her own boots. There are a few hoots and hollers, but she isn’t sure if that’s because of almost falling on her face or because it looks like Bull is escorting her inside.

Well, he _is_ , but not - they could get ideas that would be annoying to wave off. Ohhhhh, _Maker_ help us, our _divinely chosen_ shacking up with qunari.

Not that she’s shacking up with anyone.

Her face warms as she presses her lips into a thin line. 

“See?” he says. “Much better.”

“There’s nowhere to even sit,” she points out, hoping that this will mean she can go. Before she does something truly embarrassing. 

Bull ignores her. Her brow furrows. She can start a bar fight and get out this way. Getting drunk isn’t really important anymore, and besides there’s a bottle of Dalish wine in her chambers. Good. Plan B should have been Plan A all along.

He whistles and kicks at the legs of a bench, startling a dwarf enough to make him spill his ale all over himself and his companion. The girl - human, mage - shrieks as her robes are soaked. She jumps up and runs off. The dwarf glares up at all Bull, which is brave considering the size difference here. 

“Up,” Bull tells him.

“Piss off,” the dwarf says back. “You owe me a drink.”

Before she can make her escape, she’s being pushed forward. Bull’s hand is on her shoulder, and a meaty finger is against her cheek, disturbingly warm and close. 

“Don’t you know who this is?”

“What do I care about your elf?”

“Fuck you,” Lavellan seethes, out of her comfort zone and straight into pure rage. She doesn’t give the dwarf the benefit of the doubt. Elves are elves are elves. That’s been her experience with this stupid, wretched world outside of her clan and her trees. 

The sole of her boot makes acquaintances with the face of the red-faced, blustering dwarf, sending him tumbling off of the bench. 

Iron Bull’s laugh fills the entire tavern, which has gone strangely silent during the altercation. She turns her glare on the rest of the patrons, friends and allies alike. Fuck off, she wants to say, go back to your trivial bullshit. They do, without her having to say anything, silence returning to clamor. 

“You know what, boss, I like your style. I think you broke his nose.”

“Good.” Her mouth is dry. She needs a drink, or five. 

Bull practically throws himself into the bench, one arm slung over the back, legs spread wide enough to essentially take up as much room as possible. She does her best to avert her gaze from the apex of where those legs lead. She focuses, instead, on scowling at him. 

“I didn’t kick that dwarf so you can have a bench to yourself,” she points out. “How am I going to enjoy the drink you’re making me have?”

The hand attached to the arm that isn’t covering half the bench slaps against one of those tree-like thighs of his. “I got a seat for you, right here. I might need you to kick someone else who thinks they can mess with us.”

His.

Lap.

He wants her to sit on his lap.

Gods help her, she wants to sit on his lap. But if she thinks that’s not going to get people talking, then she’s absolutely out of her mind. 

He pats his thigh again. 

“I’ll buy all of your drinks.”

“I get them for free.”

Pat, pat, pat, pat. 

She could perch there, and she doubts he’d even feel it, her body lithe as befitting a rogue. She could perch there, like she was on her own bloody throne made of very impressive and attractive qunari.

“Then _you_ can buy all of my drinks,” he tells her. There’s a quirk to his mouth, not quite a grin, but something that spears through her. He knows exactly what he’s doing, but she’s come to realize that the Iron Bull always knows exactly what he’s doing and what he wants. 

Can she say the same?

With an eyeroll, she takes a seat on his right leg, close enough to lean into his body, but with enough decorum to not look like she’s trying to ride him.

And when a few people shoot them looks, a curl of lip, a wrinkle of nose, she holds up both hands to full showcase both middle fingers. 


End file.
